Shifts
by SunsetSky412
Summary: Shape-Shifters; the idolised, the envied, the loved and the hated. John has rejected who he is since he was a child but when he meets an eccentric detective just like him; will the man convince him to see the truth behind his form. Sequel 'Snake in the Grass' now started


**Shifts**

**Disclaimer: **The characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and the modernisation to the BBC; only the storyline is mine

I've made a few small alterations so this is a bit of an update - but no plot point has changed at all; there were just random sentences here and there that I didn't like :)

Thank you for everyone whose read, reviewed or favourited this - you guys are so amazing x

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><p>Shape-Shifters; the idolised, the envied, the loved and the hated.<p>

People who had the ability to shift into an animal form, which was commonly theorised to be a reflection of their soul.

In the modern era the 'Shifts' had become more excepted in society; there used to be a time when immediate arrest followed any Shift who changed in public and death threats would be a natural occurrence to one who openly admitted their ability.

But these days Shifts weren't made a big fuss of; their population had grown so much that there was really little point, plus people had begun to realise it was hard to pick a fight with someone who could change into a fierce predator and fight back.

Every Shift had one animal form; after the surge they couldn't switch or produce a different form, that animal was a reflection of their soul and a soul cannot be changed.

As children Shifts would flicker between different forms, the changes would start from as early as a few months; although these wouldn't be full changes, just simple eye colour flickers or sharp canines that would appear for a few days.

At the age of three or four full changes would begin and the child would end up trying every animal form by the time they reached the surge; as if their body was trying on different outfits until it found the perfect one.

The surge came at the age of 16, the teenager would wake up on their birthday as an animal and would remain in that form for a week at the most; getting to know their other body and reflecting on the choice of soul resemblance. At the end of the surge the Shift would finally be in control of when they changed; the first feeling of control since they were born since as a child changes happened at unexpected moments and would last for undetermined lengths of time.

John was one such Shift; he had finally finished the surge the other night and he was grateful to be back in his human body. He was also thankful to be in control of his changes from that day on; he used to hate every time he changed because his height meant that every animal he changed to, even the week he had been a Siberian tiger, made him resemble an oversized cuddly toy. He had been teased non-stop since his first public change when he was five which had sent him whimpering home in a lemur form.

The blonde teen had been dreading his surge since he had heard of it; he couldn't bear the thought of his form being some cute, fluffy animal for the rest of his life. Yes he was short! He got it! Did his soul really need to reflect that aspect?

But on that morning of his 16th birthday he had woken to see a form that had shocked him to the core, it was the opposite of anything he could have imagined.

He had then spent the entire week trying to see how the beast he had become reflected his personality at all; Shifts were supposedly able to spot the resemblances between themselves and their form straightaway but John could definitely not spot anything. Yet what frightened him more was that he couldn't even tell what animal he was! That had been the final straw for John and he had mentally decided to never change again; he didn't need to, there was nothing wrong with living as a normal human. So for the decisive teenager, that was the end of that!

* * *

><p>"So the Shift finally emerges!" Harry, John's shameful sister mocked as he came down the stairs that morning.<p>

John didn't even spare her a glance and went straight to the kitchen, shoving a slice of half-decent bread in the toaster, "Morning to you too." He replied in a tense tone; his barriers automatically shooting up around his non-Shift sibling.

The Watson's weren't a family in the Shift heritage line, John was the first one on record and since Shifting was a biological trait it had caused a lot of stir in the family, so much that his parents had actually spilt over it.

Harry slipped onto the grubby dining room table, leaning towards her brother, "What's the animal then? A mouse, rabbit? Oh I know! It's a fragile little butterfly isn't it!" The twenty year old let out a hysterical laugh at her comment and toppled off the table, landing in a heap on the floor.

John sighed and glanced at his sister; her unwashed clothes, uncombed hair and pale face with dark bags under her eyes. He could still smell last night's vodka on her breath. "When did you get back Harry?"

The unbelievable young adult burst into more laughter at her brother's question, "Why should I tell you Shifty? What are you going to do about it?!" She attempted to stand up during her sentence but had just collapsed back to the floor in a still drunken mess.

John couldn't help wincing each time she called him by his race rather than his actual name, he knew he shouldn't take her words to heart when she was in this state but as this had recently been the only state Harry knew, the words simply sounded like her opinion.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." With a sigh he grabbed his sister under her arms and proceeded to carry her up the stairs, blocking out her jaunts at how she was surprised he could even attempt to lift anything because he was such a weakling.

His sister's taunts and snide remarks were mostly what made John decided to join the army; years on, even after his med school graduation the words still flew around his head, despite the fact he hadn't seen Harry since he'd left home. She hadn't even had the decency to sober up on their last day together; he'd had to leave a note just so she'd know where he had gone in the morning.

The new doctor had kept to his private promise; he hadn't changed since his surge. Everyone assumed he did this because he was embarrassed of his animal, _look at him, he's a weak one, must have one of those pathetic forms,_ he heard the whispered remarks but no words no matter how painful would make him change; he feared the remarks that would start if his actual form was ever seen, they would be worse than people thinking him pitiful; a monsters worse than a weakling.

These build-up of comments over the years had all led to John wanting to prove his strength; he had lived practically alone since the age of 11 when both parents had given up on him and blamed him for all their problems because he was such a 'disturbance of nature'. He had cared for his drunken sister all those years who had thanked him by throwing up in his bed or making cutting remarks about what he was. Dr John Watson was not weak and he wanted to prove this without having to give into peoples demands to see his form.

The army was soon found to be one of the best things to happen to John, Shifts were unheard of in the front line regiments, they were used for the special operations or spies, why would Shifts bother with gun weaponry when they were so much more powerful?

This meant that John was accepted openly in his team, it had been a new start, nobody knew he was a Shift and even when he eventually told some of his closer friends on the force they didn't care. War life made them think of more important things than Shifts and forms.

But that happiness had eventually ended; a bullet to the shoulder and suddenly he was back in London, sitting alone in a dingy blank room. John woke up screaming at nights, but not from nightmares of the battles as his therapist told him, but from the pain of missing that feeling of acceptance.

As the nights of screaming continued he could feel the animal within him starting to wither in anger, trying to release from where it'd been hidden all those years ago. It had been researched that when a Shift was feeling at their lowest the urge to change would become stronger as their soul would be showing more through their feelings; and John was worried that day was coming soon.

But suddenly when he had been giving up on everything in life and losing more and more control over himself; Dr John Watson had met Sherlock Holmes.

He had recognised a fellow Shift as soon as he had walked into Bart's lab, the aura was undeniable; Shifts all had the ability to feel other beings that were also in deeper connection with their souls, it gave off a certain… sense.

The information of both men being Shifts was never mentioned, even after weeks of living together; Sherlock didn't bring it up so John followed suit.

But as time went on John began to feel a sense of connection with the untamed detective. The two men seemed to spiral around each other, within days they were acting as if they had known each other for years, holding conversations with simple gestures or looks; although heightened senses due to the Shift genes did help this aspect. Sherlock had suddenly become John's life as much as John had become Sherlock's; neither man was seen without the other for more than a few hours.

The workers of Scotland Yard found John a mystery; they viewed him as this dull, normal man who trailed behind the eccentric Shift. The doctor had quickly established that it was common knowledge that Sherlock was a Shift himself, as he changed regularly during cases.

John remembered the first time he saw Sherlock change and due to it being the first time he had ever seen or had the topic presented he really would have liked some warning.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock there's nothing else in the building! It's been thoroughly checked top to bottom!" Lestrade once more explained in an exasperated tone. Sherlock had just finished his deductions on the dead body in the middle of the floor before declaring that the murder weapon was still in the room.<p>

Sherlock snapped his head around to the Inspector, "And who was it that searched the room?" He demanded in a condescending voice.

Anderson took this moment to walk through the door from where he had been listening outside and replied in a pompous manner, "I did, and I'll tell you that there is defiantly nothing left in this…"

But the man was cut off by a huff of protest from the detective who was now spinning on the spot, scanning every inch of the area with his sharp eyes.

John watched the on-goings from the corner, smiling at Sherlock's determination. He trusted his friend completely, if he said the weapon was in the room then that's where it was.

"Sherlock, this place is huge; it's a dining hall as well as a library! How are you going to find the weapon among all this?" John called out, stepping towards the detective and raising an eyebrow in question.

The taller man stopped his spinning and turned towards his friend with an affectionate yet slightly patronising smile on his face, "Oh John, you'll see."

As he spoke, Sally Donovan strutted into the room followed by a collection of officers, "The freaks going to show us his super powers then?" She drawled in a venomous tone, getting a couple of sniggers from the policemen around them.

John felt a prick within him at the comment, he could never stand how these people talked to Sherlock; firstly as he felt his friend deserved more resect but also because it reminded him of all the taunts he'd been subjected to in life, but there was nothing he could do about it. If he let the anger for the petty people over-take him then he would most likely end up changing to defend Sherlock and not only would that break his promise to never show his monstrous animal but also defending a fellow Shift using your own form was interpreted as a very personal thing. It was at such a level of intimacy that even those who couldn't shift knew about the meaning of a defensive change.

But Sherlock once again ignored Sally's insult and the agreement of the rest of the Yard and moved towards the nearest bookshelf, "John, you know that topic we haven't exactly discussed yet," He shouted over his shoulder, "Well this would be it."

And with that confusing declaration, the tall, pale curly haired man shrunk in a blink of an eye and in his place was a beautifully elegant cat. His coat was a pure black with strands of an almost silver that shimmered in the light , the feline turned its head back to John and he got a shock at seeing Sherlock's striking green eyes gazing back at him. But before he could study his friends form any longer, Sherlock had leapt among the shelves in search of the murder weapon.

John was still stuck to the same spot, staring at where Sherlock had been a few seconds ago; he hadn't seen a Shift in their form for years now, the army had none. Looking around the room was when John realised he was the only one trying to come to terms with seeing Sherlock's form, nobody else had batted an eyelid, apart from the few who were muttering jealous curses under their breaths.

This was when Sally slinked her way to John's side and decided to question him, "He's never shown you his form before then? Says something doesn't it."

John snapped out of his amazement from seeing Sherlock's soul reflection and found himself standing taller and drawing in his solider persona, "Not really.

Sally glanced at him from the corner of her eye and smirked, "I think it says a lot, aren't you two supposed to be best buds? And he hasn't even shown you his form; apparently it's an important thing with Shifts."

John had to bite his tongue to stop himself from remarking on her comment, a Shift showing someone there form really wasn't a big deal, but he couldn't say that without arising suspicion to himself. "It's Sherlock's business who he shows his form to but considering he's allowed you to see it I really wouldn't consider it an honour."

Sally couldn't stop a surprised gasp escape her lips, the doctor hadn't risen to any comments before now; she'd doubted the man had even known how to fight back.

Just as Sally opened her mouth to make another scathing jibe Sherlock reappeared from the maze of bookshelves with a pair of nail scissors hanging between his gloved fingers. "I think you'll find DNA on this to reassure your tiny minds with my deductions," he snatched an evidence bag from a fuming Anderson and dropped the tiny murder weapon into it, "Come along John, you're starving."

Then Sherlock disappeared through the door; throwing the evidence bag at a bemused Lestrade. John turned back to Sally and gave her a small nod which she returned with a cold glare before storming away from him to go and join Anderson, where they started to talk in hushed whispers, gesturing towards where the detective had been and then where John still stood.

The doctor rolled his eyes at their childish behaviour, he found that not thinking about the two idiots made it easier to not get angry or upset by them.

He found Sherlock waiting for him outside, leaning against one of the police cars and typing away on his blackberry; probably looking for another case. Sensing John's presence the man turned and started walking down the street, leaving the doctor to catch up with him.

Once he'd reached the detectives side the blackberry had gone and his friend was looking down at him, an expectance in his eyes, as if waiting for something. When John didn't say anything Sherlock let out a sigh and started the conversation, "You have questions about my form, why I hadn't shown you before, the species and you probably want to give your opinion on the matter as well."

John was used to Sherlock being able to practically read his mind and he took it in his stride, "So a cat-"

"Feline," Sherlock quickly injected.

"A feline…" He paused as if considering the form; he could feel Sherlock tense at his apparent hesitance, "Well I think it reflects you perfectly."

John smiled at his friend's expression, it was the exact copy of how he'd look the first time he'd made a full deduction on John's life and the doctor had praised him for it.

"Really?" Sherlock looked at John with confusion in his eyes, "People normally say it's nothing like me; Mycroft finds it a fun pass time to point out how boringly_ normal_ it is." The detective practically spat the last sentence, his hands involuntary clenching in disgust and anger.

Before considering his actions, John lightly placed his hand on top of Sherlock's and at his touch the taller man visibly relaxed. "Since when have you listened to what other people say; when have you ever listened to Mycroft come to think of it?"

Sherlock gave a light chuckle and stopped his stride, turning to face John, "I think a feline reflects you well," the doctor continued, "They're smart, sneaky, have amazing memories, are very good at getting into spats, are naturally curious, have endless amounts of energy when they want to and luckily for me because I wouldn't be able to afford the rent singularly, they have nine lives."

Sherlock had averted his gaze during John's explanation but when he had finished he glanced back up, "I've never thought of it like that before." His tone small and shy; characteristics that the man rarely showed.

John looked him in the eye and spoke gently as if addressing a nervous child, "Maybe that's because nobody's ever looked properly."

A flicker of light sparked in the man's eyes and he flashed the widest grin ever to be shown on his face; he gave John's hand that was still on his own a light squeeze as a form of gratitude and then the moment was over. Sherlock was through the door to Angelo's where they had ended up outside already discussing new possible cases with himself.

It wasn't until later that night when John was slowly falling asleep on the sofa after a long run around London due to Sherlock announcing the man on the opposite table at Angelo's was a recently escaped prisoner who had simply changed his appearance, when he thought of the question Sherlock had implied John had been thinking, 'Why I haven't shown you before.'

The doctor heard some rattling in the kitchen followed by the sound of someone sitting in the chair opposite him; it was John's half-asleep brain that made him ask the unanswered question, "Sherlock," his voice was barely audible and slightly drowsy but Sherlock still glanced up at the noise, "Why didn't you show me your form before?"

Sherlock gave his friend a hard look, his eyes roaming over his body, analysing whenever to answer truthfully or not, he quickly decided on the truth and leant forward to make sure John heard him, "Because of you."

John was too tired to look up so he simply blinked in response but that was enough for Sherlock, "I know you're also a Shift, and you know I know that. But for some reason you don't like it. You don't enjoy being a Shift. The fact your jaw tenses whenever one of the non-changers talks about how much they'd love to be one of us proves that point. Then I can assume it's something to do with your form; the collaboration of your height with a form makes it obvious that as a child the forms would have embarrassed you but I don't think it's the same reason now."

Despite his fatigue John was listening intently to every word and he froze at Sherlock's last statement.

"There's something else, some other reason that you don't want to change, something I haven't quite worked out yet." His voice lingered off in a curious tone and John bit his lip in anxiety; just waiting for the moment Sherlock would start to deduce him to pieces and flaunt his reason for not changing in his face.

But that's not what happened, Sherlock instead slouched back in his chair and picked up his violin, plucking at a few strings before calmly saying, "So I didn't show you my form because I didn't want you to feel inclined to show me yours."

Then with that admittance, the detective started to play his beautiful instrument, the gentle waves of sound weaving over John and sending him to sleep with a smile on his face and the strongest feeling of acceptance yet.

* * *

><p>Since that first conversation between them where they'd both confronted the fact they shared a connection through their heritage Sherlock used his form a lot more often.<p>

John would frequently be walking back from the clinic or shop to feel a light tickle on his ankle and look down to see Sherlock brushing against him before racing off and leaving John to find a fully human Sherlock sitting in the flat as if he hadn't left.

Sometimes when Sherlock was in one of his thinking zones during a case John would have the feline attached to his lap for various time limits. The common appearance of Sherlock's form started John wondering whether it was a way to try and encourage him to change but Sherlock never mentioned any such notion so he cast away that idea.

At first Sherlock's habit of using his form with John was something he only did in the flat or when nobody was around but as time went on he started to change more publically.

Once at a crime scene, Sherlock had just finished a brilliant deduction to have Sally and Anderson question him on every little detail in an attempt to catch him out. Sherlock managed ten minutes of re-explaining with a cutting sub-text but when Lestrade went over and asked him to just repeat the end of his reasoning again, he lost it and changed to his form; a common occurrence when he was frustrated or sulking.

But what had got surprised eyes, raised eyebrows and two weeks' worth of office gossip was the fact that Sherlock in his feline form had then ran up to John and jumped up onto his shoulders, wrapping his tail gently around the man's neck and hiding his head in the crook of his shoulder blade; refusing to move.

John didn't realise until later that he hadn't made the situation look any better by sub-consciously rubbing his fingers against the dark coloured tail and speaking soothing words to his formed friend; leaving the crime scene without a backwards glance. He should have considered the implications more thoroughly.

From that moment on John had signed his own social death certificate, nobody believed his sighs of, "We're not a couple; I'm not even gay!" The remark just got disbelieving nods or condescending pats on the arm. Eventually he just gave up rebuking anyone who commented on his and Sherlock's 'relationship', if they were too stupid to see that two men could have a close bond then it wasn't worth his time. Straight women would have relationships as close as theirs with their own friends, why was it suddenly so different when men were put in the situation?

The only gossip that bothered John was the whispers of, "Why would a Shift be with such a normal non-changer?"

These words would always take little pricks at John's heart, he may not change or make his heritage public but that didn't mean he liked being seen as a normal being. He may think being a Shift was a curse but it was what connected him to Sherlock; it was the one thing his ability gave him that he was glad of. But remarks like that took it away from him and he couldn't help if it hurt.

John could tell that Sherlock didn't appreciate those particular comments either; if he heard them it could be assured that person would have a much harsher experience of the detective's words. But that was another aspect he admired in his friend; even though John could stop the comments by simply announcing he was in fact a Shift, Sherlock never mentioned or asked him to do so; he respected John's secret reasons for not changing.

And John's reasons for never showing his form did stay unknown to Sherlock for months; until one fateful evening.

* * *

><p>The two men had just collapsed into their flat after an energy packed and joyful day on both friends' parts. It had started in the early hours of the morning with a dead body washed up on the Thames riverside and led to the unravelling of an elite drug dealer whose members had been down for numerable accounts of murder.<p>

Along with this Sherlock had managed to make Anderson speechless and red in the face by announcing that the thousands of pounds his wife had taken to use on the new kitchen had actually gone towards her secret nose job.

Then this had been followed by a chase around the streets of London after a thug John had spotted stealing an elderly lady's handbag; which not only gave them an excellent run but allowed the doctor to witness a horrified Sherlock being hugged for a full two minutes by the extremely grateful woman.

The night had finally ended with a splendid Chinese meal in a little restaurant they found; where John got the satisfaction of witnessing Sherlock eat a full meal plus a pudding.

The Shift couldn't have thought anything could break through his glorious mood as he lay spread out on the sofa, listening to Sherlock getting out his microscope and go into the fridge to obtained one of his disturbing body parts.

But at that moment John's phone rang, he fetched it from his jean pocket and looked at the caller ID; 'Harry Watson'.

John felt a chill run through his body, he was tempted to recline the call but his morals got the better of him and he pressed the answer button.

"What is it Harry?" John ran a hand through his hair; he was in too good a mood for a talk with his sister.

As soon as she spoke he could hear the slur in her words, "Why did you have to be different? Why couldn't you have been normal?"

John gritted his teeth together, Harry calling him when drunk meant that she had broken up with whoever she was dating again, and a drunken call from Harry always consisted of insulting him as much as possible. "Look I'm not talking to you when you're drunk, having a go at me won't help anything."

But his sister was too determined for her own good, "If you hadn't been born that would have helped a lot of things," John's eyes widened at the cruel statement, his sister's insults where normally picky not vicious, "You're the reason mum and dad spilt and left us, the pathetic little Shift that doesn't even change. Why is it you don't change Mr Powerful? Is it because your form reflects what a worthless person you are?"

John had frozen at his sister's words. He could actually feel water forming in his eyes; he lost all logical sense that he normally retained in these conversations about how Harry didn't mean what she was saying, she was just drunk and angry, because her words were picking at all of John's insecurities from every available angle.

"How can you say that? I practically dragged you through our childhood with all your addictions, hasn't that got some worth?" He couldn't stop his voice cracking at the end of the question.

He heard the splash and gulp of another swig of alcohol before her slurring voice spoke again, "No – cause you did a rubbish job, I'm a mess aren't I, you did nothing to stop that!"

John flinched at the accusation, he had given up his childhood to care for his older sister; despite the fact it should have been the other way around, "What was I supposed to do? I was a kid; I was even more hurt and lost than you! How… I – can you even hear yourself right now? How can you just talk to your brother like this?"

The next sentence felt like a dagger had pierced his heart, the cold words pushing a tear to roll down his cheek, "You're not my brother; Shifts aren't part of our family."

The phone slipped from John's fingers, he didn't take in the voice that was still coming from the phone; everything had become a blur. Every word, look and insult around his Shift heritage was zooming around his head; all of his parents arguments that included accusing points at him, his father's voice denying him as his son, all of his sister's jibes, the teasing voices of the children throughout his school years and the image of the beast he had seen in the mirror the day of his 16th birthday.

The feeling of escape inside him got stronger, a tingling sensation overcame his whole body and suddenly John was gone.

Sherlock had been listening to the entire conversation from the kitchen; he could tell it was the infamous Harry Watson from the sound of John switching his position slightly on the sofa. He'd only been able to hear one side of the phone call but he could tell it was not good from the beginning and he had to stop himself from entering the room at the sound of John's voice becoming more and more broken.

Then Sherlock had heard the clatter of the phone, a moment of startling silence and suddenly, an animalistic whimper of such pain he dropped the glass slab in his hand and let it fall to the floor in a smash. He ran into the room, "John…" But the sight caught him in his tracks.

In the middle of the room, quivering on its legs; was a hound.

The animal came up to just below Sherlock's chest and was almost the entire length of the sofa that sat behind it. The beast had pointed and deadly looking black nails sprouting out of its gigantic paws and the tips of two sharp fangs, as there was no better word were poking out from the animal's mouth. Its coat was a silky blonde shade with few grey strands in it and overall it was like no creature Sherlock had ever seen.

The hound's eyes were tightly shut but at the sound of the detective's voice they snapped open to show the deep blue eyes of his best friend. The two Shifts stared at each other for a matter of minutes until the hound's eyes widened in fear and with an incomprehensible speed he had disappeared from the room.

Sherlock stood glued to the spot; suddenly everything was making sense. The reason John didn't change, why he was so ashamed of being a Shift. He knew what it was like to be different; his intellect had meant he'd had to deal with the feeling of not fitting in all his life. However Sherlock was a sociopath, he had no problem or had at least convinced himself he had no problem with not fitting in; John didn't have that.

The detective slowly made his way up to the second floor where he could hear John trying to stifle his whimpers, the sound pulled at Sherlock's insides; a feeling of pity that he wasn't used to. When he reached the door to John's room he hesitated, he had never had to comfort someone on this level before and he was unsure what he was supposed to do. But the sound of another pained whine pushed this caution from his mind and he opened the door.

The formed John was curled up in a huge ball on his bed, only just fitting on the piece of furniture. His head was hidden between his front two paws and his body was shaking in an attempt to gain control of his emotions so he could change back.

Sherlock walked over to his friend and perched himself on the edge of the bed; he saw John flinch at the close contact and his tail wrapped further around his body.

"So this is what you've been trying to avoid," Sherlock's voice came out uncharacteristically gentle as he spoke to his friend, "You've been afraid of how this form reflects you or what other people would think of you if they saw it."

John's lack of response encouraged Sherlock that his assumptions were correct, cautiously he placed a hand on his friend's coat and though at first John tensed at the contact, soon he visibly relaxed under the touch and Sherlock started to absently run his fingers across the blonde fur.

"Well I'll give you my thoughts, which will have superiority to anything an average-minded person may comment," Sherlock began, "I believe it resembles you to a high degree."

John let out a sharp whimper at this but Sherlock quickly placed his other hand on John's head, rubbing the fur behind his ears in a soothing manner. "Just listen," Sherlock waited a few seconds and then felt a slight raise in John's head before it fell back down; a nod.

"You've been looking at your form from the wrong angle since you turned 16 and because you refused to change since the surge, nobody's ever looked properly." Sherlock mentally scolded himself for the cliché of repeating John's words to him from all those months ago but it was the only sentimental basis he had stored.

"You saw this hound, which I've concluded is the best description for your form, and decided that it showed you as a monster; some ferocious beast. However though it may be true as an exterior, it's not strictly correct in other terms; this hound shows bravery, loyalty, the ability to protect yourself and others, leadership, the fact you've had to be so strong throughout your life and overall your uniqueness – hence my statement that it well resembles you."

Sherlock had surprised himself with his little speech and with the silence that followed it he suddenly felt very self-conscious that he'd said completely the wrong thing. Just when he was about to take his leave from the room, John's paws moved away from his face and he turned to place his head on Sherlock's lap, gently rubbing his soft cheek against the detectives side.

A small smile lit on Sherlock's face and he stroked his friend's head. After a couple of minutes Sherlock felt John's breathing lower to a slow rise and fall, indicating the Shift had fallen asleep. He gently placed his hands under the soft head and lifted it slightly so he could slip out.

Standing next to the bed looking down at John he felt a wave of protectiveness come over him, the hound curled up asleep suddenly looked very fragile and somehow Sherlock felt he shouldn't leave him alone. With this thought he let his form come out and the small feline jumped onto the bed and tightened into a ball next to his friend.

* * *

><p>Since that night John had a different air about him, he seemed happier and more care free; no longer held down by the thought of his form. He still didn't tell people that he was a Shift and he still didn't change in public. Though sometimes he would change when it was just him and Sherlock at the flat and the two Shifts would pass the time together in companionable silence or on some occasions play childish games such as seeing if John could make a cup of tea in his form… he couldn't.<p>

The fact Sherlock had got John to see the qualities and truth about his form and helped him accept his Shift heritage had strengthen the connection between the two friends even more. They were apart even less now and when they were together they seemed to draw towards each other; as if they couldn't fathom the idea of being separated.

The only problem with this was the fact that the comments about them being a couple got even worse. The two friends laughed at most of the whispers or looks and on days Sherlock was feeling particularly mischievous he enjoyed purposely invading John's personal space or resting a hand on the small of his back just to see people's reactions.

In the end it was the words and implications towards a relationship between the two of them that they had shrugged off for so long that lead to everyone finding out that John was a Shift.

John was perched on one of the office desks in Scotland Yard trying to feel the will to live; he and Sherlock had been at the police headquarters for a full two hours. The first 20 minutes had been fine, that had simply concluded of Sherlock explaining that the gardener had stolen the contents of the safe and how he'd done it but after that… well.

"Sherlock just fill in the report!" Lestrade was actually shouting at the detective now, who having decided he didn't want to fill in any evidence reports had changed into his form and was sitting on a beam up on the ceiling where he had been for the past hour and forty minutes.

When Sherlock once again didn't respond with so much as a twitch of the whiskers Lestrade turned to John in despair, but John just raised his hands in defeat, he'd already tried to get Sherlock to come down but the Shift was being infuriatingly stubborn.

At this moment the office was suddenly full of life again; the workers who had all left for lunch when they got tired of hearing Lestrade shout at a cat form of the detective had returned.

Within this array of people came Sally Donovan; Sally glanced up to where Sherlock was sat and smirked, "Pussy still doesn't want to come down?"

John saw Sherlock bristle at Sally's sarcastic mock and despite John's strong dislike for the sergeant and the way she talked to his friend, he was actually partially glad she had arrived; Sherlock couldn't stay unresponsive to her jibes for long.

"Just throw a bucket of water over him, if we're lucky he'll drown." Sally's remark got an appreciative laugh from the office but John could practically hear Sherlock's voice in his head_, you ca__n't drown from having water thrown over you, how stupid can you be!_

But as Sherlock looked at John he saw that his friend expected him to change back to rebuke Sally for her comments. John then saw the stubbornness in Sherlock's eyes heighten and he let out an audible groan at the thought of how long he was going to have to stay here waiting for Sherlock to move.

The groan switched Sally's attention to the doctor; ever since she'd got a response from him that one time she always picked at him to see if he would bite back.

"You're still here? You guys seriously have separation issues." Sally moved towards John and placed herself in front of him, crossing her arms and leaning to her right causing her body angle to look slightly mangled.

John had found the most effective way to deal with Sally was to act naïve to her comments, he shifted his weight and turned her gaze to her face, "I have been wondering about that, maybe I'll look into it, thanks for the tip."

John hid a smile at seeing Sally's face redden at his calm answer, but then a cruel look slid onto her expression and she placed herself next to John on the desk, "Your right, looking into it would be good for you, especially for when he leaves you."

The whole room fell silent at Sally's casual remark and a couple of people threw each other uncomfortable looks, the insults were one thing but a comment about the men's friendship was crossing the line.

John's back stiffened and he took a deep breath to control himself, "And what makes you think that would happen?" His tone was cold and firm, his solider traits coming to the surface.

Sally didn't notice the danger in John's voice and felt a certain triumph at seeing his reaction, "Well the Freak may be a weird cat-man thing but it makes him different from you doesn't it, he's unique and your normal, he's exciting and your dull." Her voice was laced with venom and she moved her mouth close to John's ears, her last words coming out in a whisper, "A Shift and a non-changer, how long's that going to last?"

There was a moment of tense silence where everyone waited for John's response; nobody was even pretending they weren't listening anymore. The solider stood up and took a few paces away from Sally before spinning back around and facing her, his eyes pierced into her face and his body was just radiating a sense of danger.

"You're a pitiful woman Sergeant," John said, his voice hard with a sound of disappointment to it, "You should be spending your time training the few brain cells you have to try and scratch your way to some form of promotion in this career but instead you waste it on a dead end affair and cheap comments at others. You think you're funny and clever with all the remarks you throw at Sherlock and I but they show you to be the exact opposite; you're pathetic and jealous." John's eyes darken as he spoke and he could Sally swallow nervously as he approached her, he hadn't been feared in the army for no reason, he stopped a few inches in front of her, his body creating a shadow over her own, "And I personally have no time for lower beings like that."

Sally's face turned an even deeper red and she stared John in the eye but his cold gazed got to her and she had to turn her head away, feeling humiliated and angry at what had just happened.

John stood back up straight and turned to look up at Sherlock; his fur was stood on end obviously from Sally's remark but now he was gazing proudly at John; a small purr even admitted from his throat.

Everyone had thought that to be the end of the confrontation, people started to continue their shuffling of papers and tapping on keyboards but they all forgot Sally's revengeful nature.

The woman jumped up and stormed towards John, grabbing his shoulder and swinging him to face her, fury on her face and anger in her voice, "Well I don't see how he has time for a pet like you, you're not his friend, you're just his mongrel!"

That one word changed the whole situation, Sally saw the flash of pain in John's eyes and everyone saw the man stagger and back into the glass pane of Lestrade's office to get away from the woman. They didn't understand the reference Sally had unknowingly made around the form that had scared John for so long.

But what everyone did see was the feline who hadn't moved for two hours leap off the ceiling beam and change mid-way in the air, landing in his human form right in Sally's face.

Sherlock's eyes were blazing with fury and his hands were clenched into fists at his side, "Never, call him that again." He spat the words out, each one clearly pronounced with a small gap in between.

A flash of fear crossed Sally's face and she took a step away from the detective until a smile of satisfaction crawled onto her features at seeing she had hit a nerve, "So the Freak does have feelings," she hissed, "But that doesn't make you any less weird, you're still just an animal"

Sherlock raised a slick eyebrow and replied, "You mean I'm still just more powerful than you."

Sally let out a hysterical laugh that caused a few people on nearby desks to shift their chairs away from her, "Powerful?" She laughed, "You're a cat! A tiny little pussy – that's the most boring, normal thing I can think of. Shows your true character doesn't it; you pretend to be this clever detective with all your silly deductions but really you're just a scared little kitty who couldn't protect himself if his life depended on it!"

John watched Sherlock as Sally shouted at him, he saw his friends stance slacken at her comments as she moved nearer him, spitting the words inches from his face; he recalled how Sherlock had confined in him that the normalness of his form was what had annoyed him in the past and forgetting all of the rules around Shifts including the one about defensive changes; John saw red.

Without any warning the hound leapt at Sally and landed right in front of Sherlock, causing the Sergeant to scream and fly backwards, landing in a frightened heap on the floor.

There had been a clutter of scraping chairs when John changed, the entire office had scrambled away from the hound and they were now all backed up against the office walls.

The low growl of John's form was the only noise in the room, his fur stood on end and his eyes set firmly on Sally Donovan who was now quivering at the sight of John. The sergeant moved her hand towards the door she had ended up next to but as soon as she moved John took a step towards her and his growl deepened. Sally whimpered and snatched her hand back to her chest in fright, a couple of stray tears sliding down her face.

John didn't know what was happening, all he could think was how much he wanted to hurt the woman before him for all her spiting words at his and Sherlock's being over the months, all he could think was anger.

Suddenly he felt a soft familiar hand on his head and heard a soft voice call to him, "John, she's not worth it." The sound of Sherlock's voice suddenly snapped John out of his anger and he could see the room and situation around him. He realised what he had just done; he'd done a defensive change - he couldn't begin to think how much he'd just damaged his and Sherlock's friendship, the awkwardness would be unbearable.

But Sherlock once again could tell what John was thinking and he knelt down next to his friend, lightly rubbing him behind the ear, "Don't worry," he lightly said, "People talk enough anyway."

John let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding at Sherlock's reassurance and he turned to face his friend. On doing this he saw the faces of the officers around him for the first time, the fear in their faces and the fact they had all backed away from him.

Sherlock saw his friend retreat from the people in the room and the pain in his eyes, this situation was everything John had been dreading since his 16th birthday and Sherlock didn't know how to help him, he couldn't order people to not be afraid of John; no matter how much he wanted to. He glanced around the room and as his eyes scanned over all the faces he caught the detective inspector's eye; he was giving John a wary look but there was no fear.

The man glanced at Sherlock to find him staring back at him with what looked like pleading in his eyes; the inspector tilted his head in confusion but when Sherlock gestured his head in John's direction and he saw the pain in the Shifts eyes, he understood.

Lestrade let out a sharp cough, directing everyone's attention over to him before walking over to where the two shifts stood, picking up a piece of paper on the way and stopping in front of John.

The hurt hound glanced up at the inspector, narrowing his eyes in question to why he wasn't afraid of him and why he had come over to approach him. Lestrade simply smiled down at John and held out the piece of paper, "Do you think you could get Sherlock to sign the report using this form?"

That question had been what had broken through the fear towards John's form, the day had continued on like normal and some of the workers had even approached John once he was human again to tell him how much they loved his unique animal.

A few weeks later John and Sherlock got the news that Sally had been demoted as well as transferred to a different police station so that was the last they saw of her on cases; although Sherlock did like to pop in and visit her on occasions when he had nobody else to insult.

John no longer worried about his form or what people would think if they saw it. It became quite a common sight for a feline and a hound to wander onto a crime scene together and sniff around before running off down the street in chase of the latest criminal.

Two opposite Shifts, the feline and the hound; Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed :) x<em>


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